


As Long as You Like

by Starlinghue



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Bliss, Elements from Book and Movie, Living Together, M/M, Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Mutual Pining, Past Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 00:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlinghue/pseuds/Starlinghue
Summary: Divorced, miserable, and with nowhere else to turn, Bill shows up on Mike's doorstep looking for a place to stay.





	As Long as You Like

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for my dear friend who told me not to read this book because it ruined her life

It was a Thursday evening in October when Bill showed up. On that particular night, Mike had worked overtime at the library, updating the catalogue, stacking shelves to make up for the lack of staff, as one of the other librarians was on her honeymoon, and he had arrived home late. When his quiet (and admittedly lonely) microwave-made dinner was interrupted by a tentative knock on his door well past any reasonable visiting hours, his only surprise in finding Bill Denbrough standing on his front porch was how unsurprising it was to see him. The memories of everything that had happened to them that past summer— reuniting the old club, killing the thing in the sewers, Eddie losing an arm and very nearly his own life, Stan locked up in a psych ward for weeks after Mike’s call for him to return home drove him to attempt to throw himself out of his second story window— had all faded into a murky fog into the back of his mind. It wasn’t so much forgetting as it was slipping in and out of an old dream, and yet Mike could scarcely recall the person he was only four short months ago.

“Audra left me,” Bill said, red-eyed and more morose than Mike had ever seen him. “I couldn’t stay in L.A, n-n-not after I hurt her like that. I had to get out of there. I-I-I’m sorry for barging in—” 

Mike held up his hand, silencing him before he could stutter out any more apologies. With him, Bill had only brought one small, tattered suitcase, and glancing over his shoulder, Mike found himself warmed by the sight of Silver, Bill’s old bike that they had repaired together months prior, parked diligently beside his front steps.

“Because of Beverly?” Mike asked, partly because he couldn’t help it, but mostly to see the way Bill’s head ducked, self-conscious and a little miserable. Out of all their friends, Bill had always been one of the hardest to embarrass. He was their leader, and with a stutter like his and a family full of grief, he’d learned to put on a brave face fairly early.

“You knew about that?”

“Bill,” Mike sighed, smiling thinly but patiently. “Everyone knew.”

This was not strictly the truth, but the resemblance between the two women had been clear as day, and the shift of tension between Bill and Beverly on the day before they’d fought the clown to the moment Bill had found his wife in a catatonic daze in the sewers had been noticeable, to say the least. For the most part, Mike was certain that the rest of their friends had been aware of Bill and Beverly’s mutual attraction since they were children.

Shaking his head, tears pricking at his tired eyes, Bill dropped his suitcase and looked seconds away from crumbling in on himself. “It was my own damn f-f-fault. If I hadn’t been so fuh— fucking _stupid_—”

“Bill,” Mike said again, stopping him gently. “Come in. I’ll make us some coffee.”

Bill sniffed, nodded his head in one numb, shaky movement, and then followed Mike inside.

\---

They talked well into the night, Bill regaining control over his stutter little by little as he calmed down. He explained how hard the past few months had been on his marriage, with Audra barely remembering what had transpired in Derry and resenting Bill for his vagueness on the subject. Eventually, the guilt had become too much for him, and he told her about Beverly fully expecting her to pack her bags and take off right that second. But she had stayed, for two whole months, and right when Bill was beginning to think everything between them had gotten back to normal, he’d found a note on his kitchen table explaining how and why his wife had left him, and he then received a rather tearful phone call from her the following day, cementing their separation as the truth. In just the past week, he’d signed the divorce papers and mailed them back to his lawyer without any fuss, and had then immediately hopped on the next plane to Maine, staying in a handful of different motels across the state before inevitably returning to Derry.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Bill admittedly, clearly mortified at having put Mike in this position. “But all of my friends, all my colleagues— actors, directors, other screenwriters— they’re all Audra’s crowd. They’re not, well, they’re not exactly people you can depend on when a social scandal hits, I suppose.”

“They’re the kind of people who might judge you for cheating on your wife, you mean?” Mike teased, but there was heaviness to the joke that made them both wince.

“No,” Bill furrowed his eyebrows, but managed to stay in good humour. “They’re the kind of people who might not judge me enough.”

“Ah,” Mike took a long, thoughtful sip of his third beer— they’d long abandoned the notion of coffee, and had instead split up an old six pack. “_Hollywood._”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed, chuckling darkly. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

After a quiet pause, Mike cleared his throat. "Well, in any case, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

Bill looked across the table at him, eyes wide and ears going red. "Really? Mike, you don't have to— I can try and find another hotel."

"No," Mike hoped his gentle laughter would hide the desperation in his voice. "You obviously came here with that in mind, and you weren't wrong to. I _want_ you to stay."

"Oh," Bill said, and then he smiled, all nerves and gratitude. "Alright, but I'll leave as soon as you're tired of me. I promise."

Mike shook his head in faux exasperation. "Honestly, Bill, don't beat yourself up about it."

His smile grew just a touch more genuine. "I'll take the couch."

"Not tonight," Mike said, pressing forwards before Bill could argue. "You look exhausted, and I just washed my sheets yesterday. Take the bed."

Reluctantly, Bill conceded the point. He cleaned the dishes from Mike's leftover lasagna that they had split up to go along with their beers, and then walked towards Mike's bedroom with dragging feet, the weight of coming to Derry again after everything that had happened finally catching up with him. Mike watched him go, and as pathetic as it was, he was happy to have him there. To not be alone in the house.

That night on the couch, tossing and turning to get comfortable, Mike dreamt of hazy summer days, a broken piece of a glass bottle pressing sharply into his palm, and Bill's blue eyes locked on his from across their circle, welcoming him.

\---

It wasn't long before they fell into a routine. That first morning, a bit awkward and hesitant, Mike made Bill breakfast and took off for work, feeling a bit guilty about leaving him alone for the bulk of the day. But Bill didn't appear to mind, he was too grateful that Mike was allowing him to stay in the first place, and it came as a pleasant surprise when he showed up at the library for Mike's lunch break with a couple of sandwiches on hand from an old deli downtown that had managed to survive the flood. They ate together in the staff room, the assistant librarians poking their heads in every few minutes to catch a glimpse of Mike's handsome, new— well, new to them— screenwriter friend, and it was all shockingly comfortable. Bill bought some groceries so Mike could whip up dinner for them when he got home later, and they spent the night pretending to watch football, though they really were just having another long conversation.

They argued good-naturedly over little things, like their favourite books and films, or a specific memory from their youth where the fog fell over the supernatural misery that had shaken them so much. The only real conflict between them was their sleeping arrangements— Mike being too generous about giving up his bed and Bill insisting that he didn't deserve it. Eventually, Mike allowed Bill to stronghold him into letting him take the couch, a ghost of an order from their clubhouse days, which made it impossible for Mike to deny his old friend and leader. 

And so, a week passed like this, with Bill sleeping on Mike's couch and writing concepts for a new screenplay all day in his kitchen while Mike worked. Every other day they had lunch together, always Bill's treat, and every evening they talked while they ate and only half paid attention to whatever was on television, more preoccupied with each other than anything else.

In spite of how ridiculous it was, Mike couldn't help the twinge of gratitude he had towards Audra for divorcing Bill, because without that, he would've been spending this time alone. Really, it astonished him how much he liked having Bill there. The curious sense of joy he felt when he spotted Bill's extra toothbrush beside the sink, or one of his cable knit sweaters draped over the back of a chair, physical reminders that he was _real_, that he was there. It may have been selfish, but Mike wanted to preserve his friend's presence in his house, wanted to catch the tail end of the domestic intimacy that was starting to form between them and let it propel him forwards.

But that seemed like a dangerous train of thought to follow, so Mike avoided thinking about it as much as he could, a guilty weight settling in his chest whenever it crept up on him again.

And so days crept into weeks, and weeks crept into months. By Christmastime, Bill was still with him, and he took Mike by surprise when he returned home one evening to find that he had decorated the house for the holidays while he was out at work.

"Never got to do anything like this in California," Bill explained the gesture a little sheepishly. "There's no snow there, and Audra and I usually traveled this time of year— I might have gotten carried away."

"It's perfect," Mike said, taken aback by how much he meant it. Somehow, the fairy lights and the tinsel looked a little more vibrant lined across his tiny house when Bill had been the one to put them there. "Thank you."

Bill ducked his head, obviously uncomfortable with the praise. "I mean— it's the least I could do."

After that it seemed silly to ask if he was staying for the holidays. They ended up having a pleasant little Christmas, just the two of them, exchanging books as gifts and laughing themselves stupid when Bill managed to burn the roast chicken he was trying to cook into something completely inedible. The charred, smoky smell had leaked out into the living room, and at some point after having had a few drinks, Bill made an offhand complaint about having to sleep with it.

"Take the bed tonight," Mike said, dredging up the old argument with a magnanimous grin. "My gift to you." 

"Mike, _no_." Bill whined, sounding so much like a twelve year old again that they both laughed. "We've been over this, it's just not fair."

"I don't mind," Mike shrugged. "Really. Your back can't feel too good after two months on that thing, anyway."

Bill muttered something under his breath, probably in agreement, but then sighed. "Maybe— No, forget it."

"What?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "Want to share?"

Apparently, he had hit the nail right in the head. Bill's cheeks, already flushed from the alcohol intake, went bright crimson. "Of course n-n-not."

"Bill," Mike said, exasperated. "I don't mind."

"You want to share?" Bill's face grew even more red, and Mike chuckled in spite of himself.

"It's not a big deal. There's plenty of room, plus we used to have sleepovers all the time."

This was true, but with Eddie, Stanley and Richie spread out on the living room floor between them, it hadn't felt quite so intimate.

Even though they were both embarrassed by the idea, they were also well past the point of bickering, and at a sleepy, drunken moment in the evening where their exhaustion was beating out their dignity. So, when Mike finally made his way into his bedroom an hour later, it didn't really surprise him that Bill was there, too, already in his pyjamas and firmly situated on the right side of the mattress. They lay with their backs facing each other and said nothing, the sounds of their breathing— tense and nervous— filled the room until they both slowly drifted into sleep.

In the morning, Mike convinced himself not to panic over the fact that that Bill's arm had snaked its way around his waist, or that his lips were grazing the back of his neck. He disentangled himself from his friend with stunning ease for someone who had very little practice in the matter, and when he managed to lock himself in the bathroom, stumbling into the shower, he glared resentfully down at the part of his body that hadn't been able to ignore the physical affection.

\---

January trickled by slowly, with the notable event being the New Year's Eve party hosted by one of Mike's co-workers. He brought Bill along, and the whole night he was bustled back and forth between the other librarians, all very interested in how someone from a town like Derry ever became such a Hollywood bigshot. By the time the countdown started it was all Mike could do to pull Bill away from the others, sparing him from the decision of which pretty little librarian was going to get a kiss from him at midnight. As it would turn out, Mike ended up being on the receiving end of that particular tradition, as Bill was so grateful for being rescued that he planted one right on Mike's cheek when the clock struck twelve

By March, they'd given up the pretense of the couch altogether. They shared the bed and didn't say anything about it. Bill probably didn't want to invest in a bed of his own, because there was something precarious and impermanent about him living there, and if he decided to commit and move into the guest room currently serving as an office space, the spell would be broken, and he would leave. Mike didn't dare bring it up because he didn't want him to go. He'd come to depend on Bill's company; he enjoyed cooking for him, liked that when he came home he could find Bill lying on his couch holding a book over his head, smiling warmly over the spine to greet him. Moreover, he enjoyed their conversations, the long, insightful chats about everything from cars to literature. He loved when Bill would wander into the kitchen unprompted and ask him for feedback on whatever novel or script he was focusing on that day.

It was pleasant. It was peaceful. The only thing that gave Mike any grief was the inevitable fact that it was all going to come to an end. So maybe he was a little greedy, lying perfectly still as Bill reached out to him in bed, a reflex left behind from his marriage. Maybe it was wrong to want his touch, to revel in the unconscious attention. If Bill noticed this, he said nothing, and Mike was so grateful for his silence that he extended the same courtesy. 

Each day, the comfort they took in each other's presence seemed to creep further and further beyond something as simple as having a friend over for dinner. Bill had become something of a constant in Mike's life, and a longing, simple but searing, for his company had nestled deeply into the back of his mind. Mike didn't want him to leave— he knew, with shocking clarity, that it would break his heart. Worst of all, he knew that he would forget. That this period of domesticity would vanish from his mind as if it were never there, lost in the fog with all of his other memories before they'd destroyed the creature in the sewers last summer. The idea of losing that, not just Bill, but the very essence and emotions tied to him, was terrifying.

One night, just before April, Bill mentioned that he'd sent off a rough screenplay to be looked over by an old director friend that he'd worked with in the past. Mike, who had been washing dishes at this time, accidentally allowed a plate to slip from his hands, shattering ruthlessly on the tile floor.

"Shit!" Mike hissed, quickly kneeling to pick up the pieces. "Sorry, Bill— that's great news! Just lost my grip for a second there."

Bill hurriedly got up from the kitchen table to help, moving too fast, and reached for one of the pieces Mike had just grabbed, clumsily knocking their fingers together.

Their eyes met, the closeness startling both of them, and Mike pulled his hand away before Bill could feel that it was trembling.

"Hey," Bill said, and the word was was so soft and reassuring that Mike blushed. "I'm not going anywhere. I told him to call me and then wire me the money if he's interested in buying the script."

"Oh," Mike mumbled, not quite meeting his gaze, focused on the broken pieces of plate. "You're not ready to go back, then?"

"No, I—" Bill started to say, but then he went quiet for a long moment. Mike recognized the telltale pause, certain that Bill was sounding the next words out in his head, willing himself not to stutter. He looked up from the plate to offer his friend a smile of encouragement, but was shocked to find Bill staring at him with an unrecognizable intensity. "I want to stay here. With you. If that's that's alright."

There was an unspoken word there, too overwhelming for either of them to voice. _Permanently_. He wanted to stay permanently. _With you_.

Suddenly, Mike's throat was dry. He realized Bill was waiting for him to answer, and prayed that his voice wouldn't crack as he did. "That's fine."

"Fine?" Bill echoed, his brows drawing together nervously.

"More than fine," Mike elaborated, hoping that the desperation that he felt so deeply wouldn't leak out as he spoke. "I told you, you can stay as long as you like."

Relieved, Bill reached out and patted the side of his arm. "Thank you, Mike," he mumbled. "I mean it. For everything."

"Don't mention it." Mike sighed, and he knew that Bill wouldn't. It would be another unspoken thing to add to their growing list.

\---

A few weeks later, Bill showed up at the library for Mike's lunch break on an odd day, one where Mike had already packed a lunch beforehand. He told Bill as much, apologizing that he didn’t have enough to share, but Bill only laughed and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm here to tell you that Lonnie ended up buying the script after all. I just got a call from him back home, and we hashed out a pretty good deal. So I thought I'd take us out to dinner to celebrate."

"Oh yeah?" Mike said, grinning. He was less excited about the prospect of the money Bill had just come into than he was warmed by the fact that Bill had said that he had taken the call _back home_. Meaning he really did consider Mike's house to be his own, which was oddly and wonderfully gratifying.

Bill looked elated, happier and clearer than he had in months. "Yeah, I was thinking about that Italian place uptown? The one that the flood just missed?"

"Sounds good to me." Mike agreed, though he probably would have let Bill take him to dining in a junkyard if he'd asked. Anything to keep him smiling like that.

Though normally Mike was in the habit of staying until closing, he entrusted the spare keys for the library to one of his assistants, and he got home around seven o’clock. It seemed a little silly to change, but he did it anyway, changing into one of his nicer button-downs and wearing one of his more fitting jackets. Bill was waiting for him at the restaurant when he arrived, apparently having spent the afternoon riding silver around the path outside the barrens, lost in thought, until he had rolled into town just ten minutes before Mike met up with him.

It was a nice place, with soft overhead lighting and the smell of garlic in the air. The meal was pleasant too, but what made it an exceptional evening was how Bill kept laughing, talking and smiling with such boyish ease and relaxation that Mike had to wonder if it was only the business deal that had put him in such a great mood. They split up a bottle of wine between them, and by the end of the night their cheeks were ruddy and mirthful.

Walking home with only the dewey light of street lamps to guide them, something that had always been a little unnerving for Mike until he knew that It was no longer living, Bill pushed Silver along at his side. There had been a gradual feeling of good humour throughout the whole evening, and the wine had only served to make them more prone to an unprompted fit of giggles. At some point, Bill knocked their shoulders together, and Mike leaned into it, and they continued the last few blocks home with their arms still touching. It would have been all too easy to reach down and twine their fingers together, except that it wasn’t.

“I’m happy you’re here.” Mike blurted out, quite randomly, as he and Bill were standing outside of his garage, about to store Silver away before going inside.

In the glow of the porch light, Bill’s face seemed iridescent. He grinned, and it was the mild, flattered kind of grin he’d worn so often as a boy whenever someone complimented him on something he was proud of. “I’m happy I’m here, too.”

They each had a hand on Silver’s handlebars, and the old bicycle seemed to be anchoring the two of them to the spot, securing their places in time. Not for the first time, Mike found his gaze flickering to Bill’s lips, still quirked into a smile that made him look about twenty years younger, and it occurred to him with some remorse he wanted to kiss him. It seemed silly, for such an impossible urge to come along and spoil the moment, and yet it had. 

Just as Mike forced himself to look away, Bill reached for his hand. Silver’s weight teetering a little as he leaned forward, his cool palm grazing over Mike’s knuckles. There was the sound of one of them inhaling sharply, and their eyes met. It was clear that neither of them knew exactly how to proceed.

“Mike,” said Bill, and it was a helpless sound. He had never known that a single syllable could retain so many layers of complication. Then, like it was the simplest thing he’d ever done, Bill leaned across the bike and kissed him.

Whatever else was left unsaid between them, between all those quiet, intimate moments that spaced over the last few months, it seemed to resolve itself in that kiss. While Mike had never dreamed of Bill wanting anything more than his friendship, it became abundantly clear to him now that Bill had been just as fucked up as he was about this whole thing, and evidently, he was equally starved for affection.

“_Oh_.” Mike whispered softly when Bill finally pulled away. He felt giddy, and he gripped Silver tightly, afraid to lose his balance.

Bill’s brows were pulled worriedly together, and he bit his lip. It was such an uncertain expression on him, so different from the calm, complacent face Mike had come to adore and respect, that Mike very nearly laughed. “Was that alright?” Bill asked, breath hitching, anxiously waiting on Mike’s verdict.

“Yes,” Mike finally let the laugh escape him, breathless and euphoric. “Yes, I daresay that was more than alright.”

“Oh, _good_. Thank god.” Bill sighed, and then he kissed him again. And this time, neither one of them wanted him to pull back.


End file.
